


Refound

by junuve



Series: We Foolish Vessels [5]
Category: Nier Gestalt | Nier, Nier Gestalt | Nier Replicant | Nier (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Self-Worth Issues, take a grand tour of the inner workings of grimoire weiss' mind, the magical mcguffin has doubts about his newfound agency
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-20
Updated: 2019-11-20
Packaged: 2021-02-16 14:43:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21498913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/junuve/pseuds/junuve
Summary: There’s just not much left for Weiss to give Nier after the shadows stole their purpose away. Perhaps the Great White Book isn’t so great after all.At least, that's what he has convinced himself of... but can such a conviction be true? Or did he simply forget something greater?(Set after the Shadowlord’s attack, in the dreaded recovery period.)
Relationships: Devola & Popola (Nier), Grimoire Weiss & Nier, Grimoire Weiss/Nier
Series: We Foolish Vessels [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1543177
Comments: 6
Kudos: 27





	Refound

“What a fool, what a fool, _what a—_ ”

Weiss pushed open the door, ceasing his berating.

The room was cold. Nier was laid out on his back, blood leaching through the poultice.

Insufficient.

Nier’s breaths were troubled; hard-won. It was almost as if he were—

Weiss was fanning through himself. His pages a blur. Feverish.

What the twins had said concerning Nier’s state stuck his mind through like lances.

Like _lances_ …

“ _He’s tough, alright, but the wound to his sternum…”_

If Weiss hadn’t all he needed, then he would have to make do. He wouldn’t forgive himself if he were too late. Then again, if he were too late there’d be no Weiss left to forgive.

He wasn’t too late.

Nier was strong.

It wasn’t too late.

“ _There’s not much we can do.”_

Whatever that damned black book had done to him… whatever Noir had done to Weiss’ mind… it was as if a rotted dam had burst. The Verses flowed with uncanny ease, burgeoning, filling out his form, reviving that which had been long dormant.

So much revitalized…

Yet so little Weiss cared to recall…

But the ease of absorption, of letting magic, this was a gift. It was a gift he required. The Verses’ melody wormed through his focus as he summoned the right pitch.

“… _internal bleeding…”_

He parsed information at a dizzying rate. Human blood, human form, _human—ity…?_

It was all coming together.

Weiss’ had the spell on his metaphorical tongue. An amalgamation of ideas, an array of guesswork; all of it untested. But he hadn’t any more minutes.

“… _only a chance…”_

The magic issued from Weiss in sickly strands of black. Desperately, quietly… rising in pitch.

Sounds, vibrations, they inhabited the hole in Nier’s chest, the shimmering melody coaxing the tissues back together from ragged strips.

Letters, words—they danced round the room. Maddened embers of red, weaving flesh from blood’s power.

He would sing this man back to whole.

Darkness coiled inside of Nier, the shape forming a mimic of what had once been. A multitude of tendrils, soft as wisps of steam, absorbed and carried fluids to and fro, from where they were to where they should.

As the power unleashed from the Grimoire, the vessel responded, using the magic as a framework. The frenzied flurry of code ordered the infinitesimal machines that built a man.

_Fold, create, renew…_

His incanting merged with silent hopes.

Was his will a prayer?

The thought swept away in the wake of the grand work, all reason too taxing.

The tome swayed. But he kept aloft—kept the words flowing.

How he intimately understood this carnal vestige… Weiss had never even touched Nier, not so closely, not so—and yet… he could span the gaps in his flesh better than a chink in his own regalia.

Funny… so… funny?

 _Hilariously_ funny…

Amidst convulsions the last of the letters dragged themselves free. He snapped shut. The magic had ran from cover to cover. The spell was complete.

Weiss hit the floor.

He was limp, open; pressed to the silt on the stone. The cold had seeped deeply into him. How long had he laid there?

_Nier…_

Vibrations in the ground drove him to further wakefulness. The clatter of footsteps drew near.

Light poured into the room as a door creaked open. A figure cast her gaze over the room.

She alighted her gaze on him, and then turned to the bed, rushing to its side. Her tangled ruby hair fell over her face as she hung over the man. She touched his neck, tracing her hand across the unnatural, slick scar blooming across his chest. Like a fractal, its hooks and curves carried out over and over; mystical as it was mathematical.

“What? When did this get—” she stopped, “is he…?”

The woman’s mirror image stepped into the room.

“He’s… alive?”

“Yeah.”

Devola and Popola exchanged a glance, but the expressions weren’t of joy. They were not elated. They were merely observing this fact.

That didn’t make sense.

Weiss tried to move, to at least close himself, but the effort was useless.

Popola turned her gaze to Weiss, and strode toward him, carefully scooping him off of the ground and folding him closed in her arms.

“Did he…?” the other paused.

Popola smiled at Weiss, but it wasn’t quite what he expected it to be.

He couldn’t understand.

“We had no idea you were…” Popola selected her words carefully, “such a _healer_.”

Weiss’ couldn’t float. He could barely speak. “I’m the… White Book. Of course I…”

Of course he could do this. Why would he not? It just took some information, some understanding, a song, and his will…

_Magic…_

“But you’re—” Popola began.

“Y-you both said this, did you not?” he asked them, trembling. “I-it’s… what I am…”

Devola nodded, and Popola followed her lead.

“Why don’t you rest, Grimoire Weiss. We’ll take care of this.”

“I-I shall rest… at _his_ side.”

Her voice was soft, “alright.”

She laid Weiss down gently beside Nier, stepping back. The twins regarded them in silence, and their jade eyes ebbed aglow in the light starved room.

Each pale face reminded Weiss of masks, facsimiles of one another.

His mind. How it spun…

They exited in tandem and closed the door behind, leaving the two in darkness.

Weiss’ magic was thin, like a strained membrane. This filled him with fear. It was too thin, too thin to think clearly… too thin to move.

Was this… exhaustion?

It pulled him to sleep. He’d never been so… powerless.

A quiet plea escaped from the clamping jaws of the unconscious.

He prayed he would awaken again, and that he would be in the company of a friend, and not strangers.

Not again.

_Never again…_

He strained to listen to the eased breaths of the man beside him. He felt the pulse of his heart, and the warm rush of his blood.

At least, if he never awoke again, he had given someone a chance…

That was all he could give.

Beat after beat… Weiss fought to linger until the nothing swallowed him up.

* * *

It’d been a scant couple weeks since the attack. The library was in pieces, and much of the rubble remained from the devastation. The village men had taken time to clean up the worst, but there were other more pressing damages to fix.

The Grimoire was a small dot amidst the wreckage. He used the force of his magic to subtly infiltrate the debris, searching in the depths. For humans? Not particularly. He was searching for _books_.

Weiss was impatient.

True, that this was his normal state, but his unrest had grown intolerable as of late.

He had to do _something_.

Maybe there were better uses of his time. But he didn’t care. He was going to scan and absorb every scrap of information this library had. Then… _then_ they might be able to track down that—th…

…the _Shadowlord_ , and _Noir_.

Was revenge really what he was after? He didn’t think so. It didn’t matter, as long as Nier had Yonah, and Yonah had Nier.

Then he would have done… something.

Time could fly by Weiss. Soon, Nier would be up and ready to fight again, and he desired to be ready. So, cleaving the information from the wreckage he was.

His magical tendrils detected the image of a book, and with a ravening eagerness, he upended the slab over top, extracting the prize.

He clutched it with hands invisible, peeling it open. He fanned through, utilizing the full power of his mind to memorize the patterns on each fleeting page.

Flashes of scenes, of sights and sounds, of music; of life, coalesced within him. Each word translated like lightning, condensed and concise in his native script, and was subsequently analyzed further by subconscious processes.

Weiss tossed the book aside and began his search anew as he digested that information.

It wasn’t often, or ever, that he committed his entire being to something, and funnily enough he was surprised at the vicious efficiency he possessed. He had never really tested himself in this capacity.

He’d never thought to…

Had that black book truly unlocked something within him…? Or had he just been ignorant to his true natur—

Weiss’ magic retracted, defensively, the first hitch of the day. There were those… things _lingering_ at the edges of his perception, like specters.

Phantom images… a repressed—

No.

He couldn’t afford to dwell on all that… He went back to scouring, busying his mind and ‘hands’.

A crackling creak of oak announced the entrance of one of the twins.

Devola.

She slid the door shut behind her with ease before she tread inside. As she snaked through the rubble, her red curls caught the light fanning through the ceiling’s scars. She was a beacon in the dusty haze, and yet Weiss couldn’t help but feel disquiet at her visage.

Why did his mind swim so…?

Devola was no doubt checking up on her twin. Popola had been busy pulling medical records from her study and the back passages, and was holed up in her lair of an office, working tirelessly on extracting the vital information so that her sister and the rag-tag team of village medics could be informed on the treatments of those able to be saved.

At least, that’s what she _had_ been doing originally. But now? What could possibly be so involved…? Weiss supposed it wasn’t worth pondering.

Rather, he considered again the ruin the giant shade and its cohorts had wrought. The village hadn’t sustained as many casualties as the pessimistic had anticipated.

However, it was odd how so many of the people who were missing just suddenly turned up, seemingly from thin air, unharmed, many days later.

The few who had been found crushed in the chaos had received proper burials, but even as the dust settled, the twin matriarchs were still up to their necks in _something_.

The idle wondering would get Weiss nowhere...

He turned his attention to Devola as she passed by the… er, _slab_ … entombing the basement. Weiss gaze drifted up the relief of… _her_ …

The _woman._

A rotten burning sparked behind his thoughts. Before he got to the face of… this _figure_ , he averted his gaze, his metal decorations twisting tight.

Books. Clues. Revenge. That was his task. No room for sentiments. No room for—

She wasn’t _dead_.

She just _wasn’t._ It would take more than that to kill her. Surely… He was just being emotional.

If there was a way to fix Nier, there was a way to fix her. That was why Weiss searched.

No, wait, why was he searching, again?

Oh. The _Shadowlord… Noir._

Right.

But he wasn’t averse to finding spells that undid petrification.

He _had_ fixed Nier, he reminded himself. He’d sung the man back to whole, and nearly killed himself in the process. The risk was worth it all. Now Nier was recovering with surety, the stubborn creature.

Weiss just needed time to recover before he could fix… the rest. He needed time, and a clue.

_By God, they needed a clue…_

He detected another book in the dusty debris and slipped it free. A force of unseen wind parted the lesser tome’s pages, fanning through them at speed. Again, he imbibed the many statistics, the tables, the sounds, and even a historical tableau or two.

While Weiss continued on his search, Devola had finally picked her way to the top of the stairs.

She knocked on the door of the office and awaited a response.

No answer. All she heard was an ominous creak issue from the library itself. She eyed the bookcases stretching high above with suspicion.

“Sis?” She knocked again.

Still nothing.

Devola shoved her way in, heaving against the door.

Popola wasn’t paying attention at the moment. She’d checked out a few days back, if Devola recalled correctly.

“Hey.”

Popola stirred finally, glancing up at her. “Oh. Hi…?”

Devola sighed. “You need to take breaks more often. You’re in a daze.”

“Sorry…” Popola sheepishly replied, inspecting her desk with a level of remorse. “I just… got lost. It’s been hard to concentrate lately.”

A weak grimace bit her lips.

She’d been seated long, pouring over multiple open tomes and pamphlets. Maps and other scraps were scattered like leaves around her desk. At her feet many dozens of scrolls were lapping against her ankles.

Devola gestured to the obscene amount of strewn documents encompassing. “Do you really need all… this?”

Popola glanced around her office, a layer of glaze still over her eyes.

“Well…”

A strange runic tablet, pentagonal in shape, rested on the desk. It was creased, as if its parts were interlocking and inlaid with many familiar symbols. As Devola stepped forward to inspect it closer, Popola scraped it back toward herself, sweeping it under heavy parchment.

Devola crossed her arms at that, and sighed. “You can’t just stay here. The roof caved in. It’s not safe.”

“I’ve made it safe. It’s not going to collapse,” Popola informed her discreetly, “besides, I’m not the one you should worry about being in here.”

Devola nodded, glancing over her shoulder. “Of course.”

“It’s just…” Popola eyed the door. “… _difficult._ ”

Devola raised a brow.

“Well…” Popola clasped her hands tightly, a pained smile on her face. “…he…won’t leave.”

“I can work on that,” Devola gave her aid, “just give me a sec. You missed a spot here.”

Devola brought her hand up to match the height of the ‘missed spot’ in the structure of the building, focusing something which could not be seen.

Popola was sharp yet still hush, “hey! You can’t just—”

The power which flowed through Devola began to work its way, particles of her magic glinting in the light like diamond dust. The struts that held that section of the building softly creaked and sighed as the power soothed and mended them.

“—he’s going to notice.” Popola got up, swatting at Devola’s hand.

“I doubt it. Not after everything that’s happened,” she said.

Popola stepped back, and then sat down again. She hesitantly nodded, reflecting on something as her eyes roved the scrolls all around.

She chose her words with care, “…it was… harsh. I never thought it would absorb—” she caught herself. “It’s so surreal, you know? I thought I knew…”

“I know,” Devola answered, and placed a hand on her twin’s shoulder, massaging gingerly. “I know.”

“And the basement… he told them to put it in the…” Popola lamented. “The basement contained so many supplies, I just-” she pinched the bridge of her nose.

“I know. We’ll just get new stuff from Seafront, the Aerie, the factory,” Devola suggested, “or the Facade folks. They still exist.”

“It’s not going to be easy.” Popola slumped in her chair.

Devola ran her hand over her sister’s smooth hair, amused by the petulant position Popola had adopted.

“Has it ever been easy?” her voice was low.

Popola’s hands were a taut ball under her chin. She turned her gaze up toward Devola, brow furrowed. “It’s _different_ now.”

Devola could only offer her trademark smile. But even that threatened to twist and fall away.

“It’ll be OK. _We’ll_ figure it out.”

Popola’s gaze drifted across the room, to somewhere distant. Slowly, methodically, she went back to her paperwork.

“Maybe I—”

“Popola!” Weiss voice practically boomed, cutting her off. Devola reached for a staff that wasn’t present, and eyed the tome dangerously as he floated into the office. “I am finished with the eastern section.”

He took up speaking loudly to announce his presence, she had to remind herself. That was the greatest tool the books had… in their default state, that was.

“Wh…?” Popola started, blinking away something caught in her eyes. “Already…?”

Devola raised an eyebrow, glancing from her twin to Weiss.

“Indeed. It as if I have a gift for this accumulation and parsing of data.”

It took much self control for them to not roll their eyes.

“Regardless, nary a text in that section gave me a clue,” he reported.

“Wait, you’re looking for clues?” Devola asked, rising in volume to match the book’s own.

“That I am. I wish to be ready for Nier when he recovers.”

“You’re already…?” Devola massaged her temples. “Oh, that’s not a good id-”

Popola discreetly grabbed her twin by the hand, smiling pleasantly. The pressure twinged, and Devola stifled a scream.

That was all that was needed.

“That’s not…” Devola readjusted, “not an easy task, Grimoire Weiss.”

The tome surveyed them skeptically, but his weariness had so dulled his senses he traced nothing odd about the exchange. “I know! I’m trying to be ahead of the curve. They shall not catch us unawares, for I am the great… the…” Weiss had difficulty summoning up a swell to speak his own name. “…well, I…”

He coughed.

“Forgive me if this is too bold, but… are you both alright? You seem,” Weiss paused, considering, “ _ill at ease._ ”

“Everyone’s on edge, Weiss,” Devola answered, “the village has been through the wringer. And I don’t think the shades are going to make things easier on us anytime soon.”

Weiss jostled a little, as if to shrug. “Optimistic, aren’t we?”

Devola grimaced. “Yeah…”

She tried her hardest to deaden her interface; her hardest to not linger long on the Grimoire as he hung before her demandingly.

Grimoire Weiss was rapidly absorbing the repertoire of the village library, _her library_ , and ingesting it within his processors. It was a little frightening, to see the operation at work… so misguided… so _wasted_ …

Years immemorial of gathering, sieved, by the finest comb fashioned by humanity.

She had made sure certain documents were not privy to him. They were stowed away in a… private collection. It was for the Grimoire’s own safety. And Nier’s too.

This was the only way.

Or… a way.

Popola wasn’t sure if there was a way anymore. Not after what the White Book had done.

Weiss listed, edging toward the books scattering her office, hungrily looming… ready to take more and more.

“So, you just wanted to tell me you were done, or…?” Popola felt her hands creep up to the desk, possessive of the papers laying over top.

Devola caught a glimpse of her twin’s falling countenance.

“Anywhere else out there you can check?” Devola spoke up.

“Er… I was going to ask, actually,” Weiss explained, “pardon my wandering.”

Popola mentioned, “there’s one of the shelving units by the door… west side. There’s a good book there about the old world. I hope it still… is there.”

“What’s the name?” Weiss inquired.

“I don’t really remember. Sorry.” Popola recalled, “oh, but it does have a purple cover. You can’t miss that.”

“Right, then.” Weiss dipped to bow before taking leave.

At least Grimoire Weiss’ search gave him something to do… Popola just wished the search wasn’t in her own domain.

Her… _own._

Since when did she claim the library so fiercely?

For once, regarding the beginning of such a notion, Popola felt complacent, content to leave it alone—undocumented.

Devola shrugged. “You want him gone?”

Her sister’s jaw clenched.

“You know what I mean,” Devola clarified.

“Yes, I need some… _space_ ,” Popola spoke without lifting her gaze from her work, “thank you.”

Devola nodded and took a step away from her twin’s side. Her movements were cautious, tension needling from all sides. Devola heaved a breath and rolled her shoulders in an effort to loosen up before she hit the door.

Devola minded the stacked books trailing outside the office door as she exited, and came to the balcony edge, checking to see if the Grimoire was where Popola had sent him.

Of course he was, and he was fussing _mightily_. The confusion of coiling spells inside him were telling, if nothing else. He flitted around the west corner. Restless, erratic, poised to lash out.

She scowled, crossing her arms, trying to steel herself against some errant notion of… _empathy._

Did she really see some of herself in… that… _thing?_

Maybe she’d just never watched a Grimoire act so… human. He _was_ human, wasn’t he? Or… something like it. Closer to it than anyone else around town, at least.

Her throat grew tight.

_Do not assign humanity to critical resources._

The phantom whisper was gone as soon as it had been.

For a moment in time, she observed in raw sobriety, no mask of bard or booze to hide behind.

There it was. A course charted for destruction, and she could do _nothing_.

She could only watch.

* * *

Weiss was at the appointed shelving unit, and it was empty. Perhaps if he glowered at it long enough books might suddenly appear.

…didn’t work, of course, but he was trying anything at this point.

He twirled around in the air, groaning, his impatience dogging him.

The books had all fallen to the floor in the chaos, hadn’t they? Noir and the damned colossal shade had brought such ruination.

Weiss put himself to scouring, shifting rubble with care. Magical feelers extended across the ground like creeping vines. His network pumped furiously, latching onto rubble and crushing it without prompt.

The vines turned to veins.

He felt like he’d been searching hours, but it had only been minutes.

 _There were no books!_ Not in this corner. Had they been tossed across to the other side of the whole building!?

Had she known? Did Popola know? Was this a _message?!_ Well, she’d best be more up front! He wasn’t one for subtlety. Weiss appreciated bluntness! It told him clearly where to direct his wrath. He had much of it to spare at present.

Weiss retracted his search spell, tendrils vanishing in wisps of darkness.

A premonition of weakness came on, and a tightness strangled his contents.

Weiss consciously paused, and took a moment to loosen his covers. He’d been clamping down on his pages again—a bad habit. He was sure one day he’d cut down his page count without thinking.

_What a fool…_

He shut off his eyes for a reprieve, and the cessation of light was a sliver of bliss. He began thrumming through the edges of his pages, the action subconscious. It was a comforting motion, and a pleasing sound… as if someone were running their thumb across him… slow and soothing.

He granted himself vision once more, and it was as if he were seeing the library afresh. Chalky white whorled across the cracked tile, mixing with glittering shards of broken glass. Great crags of hewn stone lay desecrated, layers languishing over knots of bent steel framing. These were things that the village had no means of repairing nor reclaiming.

What had been lost was well and truly gone, just like the lives that the shades had taken…

Weiss whispered to himself, “where am I in this mess?”

He noted the scant few piles of books he’d bothered to stack once he retrieved them, and the dried blood stains he’d ignored decorating the devastation.

A lot of the books Weiss had found he simply tossed aside. What an piggish thing to do. Had he no class?

…or was he picking up the hussy’s slack?

He felt a mad laugh tickle through his mind at that. He almost wished for that damn slab of petrified stone to hurl an insult his way. But no, it had to stand guard—all dignified, all noble, all _solemn_.

Weiss used his powers of telekinesis to at least stack the scattered books in some reasonable fashion.

As he finished cleaning up his mess, he spotted sooty scorches. He brushed up against them, and tasted the ashes of… pages. They smelled of _someone_ …

_Noir._

The black book had burned all the pages he’d freed from his binding during the assault. A wise yet infuriating move.

Weiss took up some of the dust, but as he sampled it to comprehend it, it was simply too broken to make sense of. The dust was also intolerably _foul_. He spewed it back out, looking a fool for even trying to decipher it.

But even as Weiss expelled the black book’s ashes, certain far reaches of his… self—his _being—_ were aflame with… energy…?

What had that damned paperback done to him?! The territory over which Weiss and he had fought for dominion was alight. Weiss ascertained the magical activity in it as it parsed data.

The idea of being tainted by another’s magic insulted him on a deep level. The more he prodded the area where decoding and encoding laid, nothing but pain emerged. There was this fissure from which this new power issued spewed sickening whispers.

It _spoke_ to him.

_A new and perfect world… Shades set free… A war over the body… A hatred that craved all… And tools. Tools to fight this… disease._

There was the data.

Data aplenty!

Reports, facts, figures. But Weiss didn’t care. He was full of factual information about such things. All the books he’d absorbed recently, all the things he had learned in some past life, they spoke of the old world, the old things. Of weather, of man, of the gleeful subjugation and murder the world delighted to ordain.

Divining what to do with all this—this _stuff_ … that was his issue.

It was so muddled, and it… well, it _hurt_.

What did he really know about all the world? About humans? About Grimoires? About himself?

Maybe he couldn’t… maybe he couldn’t figure this out.

…

What was he even good _at…?_

Words? Verses? He couldn’t remember them once they slipped from his pages.

Thoughts? Plans? His greatest labors were merely a step ahead of his brutish companion’s, no offense to the man.

In the end, it didn’t really matter, did it? They all had still been caught unaware by the shades, found unprepared, and they had lost… they’d lost _the one thing they strove to keep_.

Weiss had nothing to give.

All he had now was this wretched clump of enigmatic, trifling _feelings_!

Was he but a parasite, absorbing blood from the dead and feeding life force into another? No. No, not that alone…

What _was_ he? It was on the tip of the tongue.

Had he traded _that_? That which he was?

He’d trade _it_ again, whatever he’d traded, all for his… friends.

But what had he traded in the first place?!

It was… so _important_.

…wasn’t it?

 _It_ had to be. _That_ was why he was to be addressed properly. _That_ was why he was on a quest. _That_ was why… he _was_.

 _Should_ he have lost it…?

But he couldn’t have done anything different. Not under such duress. Weiss knew he had minimized their pain, and yet he had gone about simulating the fight in his head countless times. Again and again he came to the same conclusion: if he really was what he said he was, then they would have won.

If he really was this White Book…

So the obvious answer was that he wasn’t.

Well, he wasn’t what the legend billed, to be more precise.

The distinct feeling of being had gripped the Grimoire. It always did when he pondered the greater scheme of things. He thought he’d told himself to explicitly not do that, but here he was.

Again.

But he’d made up his mind when he’d shrugged off the fate Noir had tried to fetter him to.

No. He’d _thrown_ it off in a corona of glorious white light! It was the most wondrous sensation he’d ever had the pleasure of experiencing.

So why was that zeal ailing now…?

Doubts…?

It’d taken days after the attack to stop shuddering.

Now he felt as if he was choking. And he had never even had a throat.

… _had he?!_

…

It was so _quiet_ in the library. Weiss could practically hear the dust falling.

…

Well, _of course_ it was QUIET it was a _LIBRARY!_ For the love of—why was he so dense!? Weiss was going to bash himself into a nearby surface repeatedly, but considering he was already dizzy enough from thinking, that was probably an even worse idea.

Thinking… making him dizzy… was his mind going too now? Why was it so hard to think…?

Why?

_WHY?!_

“…are you OK?” A word or two breached through the thoughts. “You sound like a pressure cooker. You know it’s OK to just scream or something… even if this is a library.”

The sounds were familiar, but…

“Grimoire Weiss?” Devola waved in front of his front cover.

He flung himself backwards, nearly hitting the wall. A shuddering noise escaped him, and then he made no other sounds or movements.

“Whoops, didn’t mean to, uh, spook ya,” Devola offered an apology, “…sorry.”

The Grimoire remained still—silent.

He just stared at her, like some invalid.

Devola tipped her head, squinting as she tried to make sure the Grimoire was simply stunned and hadn’t shorted out completely.

“Hi?”

“Mm?” was all he could manage.

“Why don’t you go check on Nier,” she suggested, concern evident.

He was choking on the words, deep inside.

“Is…ss… sss…” he paused and started again. “Is he alri-ri… ri…” he ceased speaking, the sounds lolling.

“He’s fine. Just… take a break. You sound exhausted,” Devola spoke candidly as ever, “try to take it easy for a while, OK?”

Weiss floated away from her.

Yes. Visiting his injured and tormented companion was ‘ _taking it easy_ ’.

“I-t… mmm…” he just couldn’t find the processes needed to vocalize.

She did not press his sudden tongue-tied state. Perhaps that was her way of being nice. Perhaps she was willfully ignoring it.

“I think Nier would love it if you swung by. He needs cheering up,” Devola was strangely sincere, “you know that.”

Weiss acquiesced, unable to agree verbally. He made his way out over the rubble, and she followed, cracking the double doors a sliver for him. He slipped outside, watching her shut the doors behind.

The sun was out, and it was blisteringly light. The wind was cool, however, and the skies were clear. A day ripe for traveling, Nier would say.

Weiss made his way down the colossus’ gouged road, avoiding the workers scattered around.

All the humans, old and young, were carrying on, to and fro to aid in the ongoing repairs. They brushed past him, their awe long lost for the resident floating tome.

Weiss didn’t wish to lock eyes with any of them. It was terrifying, the thought of being unable to speak.

What even was he without a voice?

The horror of what had become of the red book stalked the back of his conscious.

Wait… _had become_?

Had that book not been so deluded before…?

_Before what?!_

Was losing the voice just a thing that just happened to books? Was that why the black book was so foul? Did their kind _spoil_ with age?

Would he start… _attacking people?_

… _like the red and the black?_

Weiss was flying down the road now, sticking to the shadows.

He wanted to scream, to shout, to be heard. He needed someone to hear him right then.

No, not like _that!_

No. Not a maddened cry—not a mad cry—not a cruel laugh…

No! No no no.

Not a scream. A _word_ … he needed to be understood, he _needed to—_

_He needed—h…_

_H-h…_

…

………

………………

Nier’s house was picturesque that day. Despite it all, the sun cast a warm glow over the property. The west facing wall, with all its ivy and masonry, picked up the rays with rustic grace. Clumps of tall grass had given way to wild flowers, hemming the walls with a plethora of colors. Chickens milled about outside, pecking along the hillside as if this day were any other. The garden outside still had a few blooms and fruits and vegetables clinging to life.

Weiss had heard debate amongst the townspeople as to how Nier had ever managed to afford such a roomy home. But against all odds, the man had secured it for his wife and their soon to be born daughter so many years ago.

When Weiss had first seen the domicile, he’d been appalled at lodging in such woeful circumstances. Yet as the stories of what had taken place within the building washed over him in the restful hours as he listened to Nier recanted old tales, the harsh edges eroded, and his perceptions became kinder.

He could recall clearly, only a month or so ago, as he had loosed vines from the fences outside and dragged them through the upstairs windows.

Yonah enjoyed playing with the vines, braiding and tying and knotting the cords into multitudes of twisting patterns. It served to pass the time as her father ran errands.

Her little fingers busied about the strands—lithe and oh so dexterous. But ever so often, a spike of pain would force her to stop, and she’d resist caving to the pain so hard that her cheeks would tinge red.

… _stubborn, just like her father._

A flush of letters would ripple across her small form, and Weiss would deaden the steel of his face. It was over soon, almost uncannily, and she would be back to her distraction.

Weiss could always tell she was still in some degree of pain, what with how her brows creased unkindly for one of such an age.

Yonah had asked him to turn about so she could see the patterns across his back more clearly. He obliged, opening so that he could turn both his covers toward the girl.

She once mimicked the loops across his back cover, carefully crimping the vines, lacing them through one another between stifled coughs.

“That looks good,” he would say. “You have a knack for crafts…” and that hadn’t been a pleasant lie. She really was quite good.

… _crafty, just like her mother._

Yonah would transfix him with her smile.

“Thanks, Weissey,” he could hear that voice.

Weiss dared not recall anymore.

That little girl was no longer in the home… could it even be called a home?

If only he’d done something different… _if only he were—_

No. He had to keep on. He had to see Nier.

Weiss tried to get there, to him, but it was so hard to hover for some confounding reason. The shaking in his binding led him astray, his path winding to and fro, dipping here and there like a drunken fool.

Passing by the rusted mailbox and ivy-choked fencing, he stopped short before the door. He hung in the air there, waiting for a break in the trembling. He would not abide the possibility of collapsing in front of Nier. That’d make the man worry, and Weiss couldn’t bear to do such a thing.

But he had to go in there… some day.

He glowered down at the boarded threshold.

Why couldn’t he just _do this?_

Weiss just went ahead and pushed open the door with a buffet of force, the old thing whining as it always had.

The stench of medical solutions hit him first, but back behind that the familiar must of the home was present, threatening to drag yet more memories from their hiding places.

Weiss shut the door behind, and gazed ahead into the room, resting by the door for a moment.

_There he was._

God, Weiss wasn’t ready to see him again.

Not like this…

It wasn’t really the wounds Nier bore, nor his state in bed, no matter how dire the wounds…

No….

It was that _expression_.

Nier inclined his head slightly, eying Weiss…

“Where have you been?”

A simple question with so much left lingering behind it.

“Studying. As you rest I’ve been… be-be… en… n…” the book faltered, his striding speech ailing.

Nier’s eyes softened with concern.

“You got hurt too, Weiss. You need to slow down,” his own voice was hoarse.

Nier dragged himself up slightly to see the tome better, laying back with a limpness that frightened Weiss.

“’tis nothing. I am a Grimoire. We are a hardy kind, I assure you,” he made a poor attempt at comforting Nier, hovering closer still, just by the bedside.

“I saw th-that voodoo crap that the black book cast on you,” Nier stifled a cough, “i-it nearly… consumed you.”

“But he didn’t.”

“ _Thank God_.”

Weiss balked at that sincerity.

Even though Weiss had weaved him back together, the devastation of the spire that had run through Nier’s body… it’d taken so much of his strength.

The glistening, swirling scar left by Weiss’ spell took up nearly all of his chest.

Accounting even the magic that had sewn Nier back together, it was a miracle that he was… still there, really.

Nier studied Weiss, practically pinning him in his gaze.

“Lay down.”

Calm, but it was an _order_.

The book saw no other course of action, and alighted on a pillow beside the man, one that was placed for _him specifically_ , he noticed.

Weiss rested against it, facing toward Nier.

“You’re not even silver anymore…” the man said, “you’re _gray…_ like a rock.”

Weiss studied the sharp profile of Nier’s face, watching his lips, and how the bandages moved as he talked.

“You have to rest, Weiss. I’m worried.”

He didn’t like reminding himself where Nier’s bruises were.

“We have to rest… because we are _going to get her back._ ” The words came out with great burden, but resolve carried him on.

A shuddering exhale escaped Nier.

“We _have to…_ ”

Weiss so desperately wanted to speak, but he feared his slurred words would only further upset.

Pressure gathered within, but Weiss pushed it aside, straining to focus on Nier.

“You’ve…” The man bit his lip. “…we’ve gone through a lot.”

Weiss panged with guilt.

“You’re with me, right?”

This was no question, it was almost a plea.

Weiss’ mind contorted. Why would Nier even ask? Why would he hold but a vague hope? How could he?! _How dare—_

Weiss opened his ‘mouth’ but no words came forth.

The book attempted to force something out, but all he could manage was a hiss, which grew frantic and cut off.

Nier started ever so softly. He probably confused the noise with crying. He turned to Weiss, his concern painful in its transparency. An outstretched hand halted, uncertain. It was so evident he wanted to help, but he was lost as to what to do.

This creature called Nier was so _preposterous_ to Weiss.

_Utterly ridiculous…_

The mere fact he mustered any care for a failure of a Grimoire while his own flesh and blood was being stolen away by an abomination of darkness was… well, simply inconceivable!

To think he had any minuscule amount of concern to lavish on an arrogant fool? The one who could ‘ _topple Kingdoms_ ’ in his full wreath of power, someone who had been utterly incapable of resisting a simple hypnotizing spell, someone who could not even give pause to a shade, someone who had bitched and moaned and beleaguered this man and in the greatest hour of need had entirely failed to uphold any corner of his bond…?!

This man cared about _HIM?!_

What good was a magic book that couldn’t keep magic—couldn’t keep promises!? But there Nier was, visibly upset over the _notion_ that this useless book was _crying._ Nier was the one who had things to cry about. It was his daughter. His village. His…! Weiss had no right—no right being so…

The more Weiss thought about it—the more he thought about…

All the excess dribbled out in unbecoming whimpers.

Something terrible had happened… something irreversible…

But he… he couldn’t grasp it.

It was slipping through his pages…

He couldn’t—

…

How long had he been crying?

It was a mistake to even come! Here he was, draining what little energy Nier had by airing out his own insecurities.

Selfish ‘til the last, he was!

Nier just let him cry on his bed, make a racket in his presence… Weiss dared not LOOK upon him, lest he see a scathing reproof or worse, _sympathy…_

He wanted desperately to be angry at Nier, to be mad for daring to take pity on the great Grimoire Wei-

The man brushed his embellishments with the back of his hand, the motion as if wiping away tears despite there being a distinct lack.

But the message was… received.

“I’m sorry…”

 _Sorry about WHAT?_ What could Nier possibly apologize f—

“I know you’re with me.” Nier tried to explain, but he was biting back something of his own. He bore his teeth at it—a grimace.

Even when Weiss had no voice, somehow this idiot understood.

“You know… we can’t—we can’t get better… if we’re angry… at ourselves.”

Weiss so wanted to append that with an illustrious agreement. Instead, he just let himself tip forward into the Nier’s hand.

“Yeah.” He held the book. “I have good ideas… sometimes,” the humor was painfully dry.

Weiss took a deep draw, like a breath, sending tremors through in his pages. He did his best to abolish the thoughts that tormented him.

A strangled noise escaped Weiss, as if to apologize. He ceased trying, letting himself fall to silence.

Nier took a long moment to reply, somehow understanding, “…don’t care. I’m just glad you’re here.”

But… _why?_

… _why?_

Weiss couldn’t quell his shaking.

Nier pulled him into an embrace, nestling Weiss against his good side. A thumb ran over the edges of his pages, slow and methodical… soothing…

Nier sighed, the sound content, if only a little bit.

_He was just glad he was there…_

How simple.

How stupidly, wonderfully… _simple._ Of course Nier would want him here. Of course. How _silly…_

_What a fool…_

Weiss felt like laughing. And crying some more. But he was too exhausted now, and for once the weariness did not disturb him.

He was content to just _be_.

The Grimoire dispelled the magics that bound him tight; that fixed him in space. He laid loose, pressed into the man’s side.

The worrisome notions of fate, of a lost purpose, of some long heralded destiny… that didn’t really matter all that much.

Weiss held something greater now.

The warm glow that he’d felt when he’d realized he’d found his family, it was still there. The doubts that diminished it melted as he rested beside his… _friend._

He felt irresponsible for forgetting this glow. Though, he had to grant himself some grace. It took time to come into one’s own.

He was no longer a mythological artifact of great importance.

He was a _friend._

…and dare he say, _loved._

He knew he could gladly die, giving his all to his… friends.

Weiss smiled, wondering at why such a mortal conclusion would bring him peace.

Nier subconsciously touched the rise of the indentions that were Weiss’ lip. He felt not the usual grim scowl, but a kindness newly embossed on the cover.

Nier’s lips bent upwards to match.

**Author's Note:**

> This was a lot of fun but it was also extremely hard... for reasons that are probably evident if you've gotten this far.  
> This fic was something I really wanted to do ever since I consumed the major body of support materials surrounding Nier.  
> I practically ignored Weiss when I first ran through the game. The whole universe was so shiny, and the major plot beats kinda drowned him out in retrospect. He was forgotten somewhere between the shocking reveals and the inter-dimensional magics.  
> But after taking care to listen and really read all the dialog in the game, I discovered a wonderfully dear character.
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoyed! Please let me know what you thought!


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